The Problem With Pride
by LeRougeMonte
Summary: Christine has left Raoul after only a few days and he cannot understand why. Was it something he said? A funny yet insightful look into Raoul's life after Christine as he learns to see people for who they are on the inside and grows up a little. PleaseR
1. Brandy and Old Mistakes

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Hello everyone! Welcome to my latest story, The Problem with Pride, which centers around Raoul after Christine leaves him, and the journey he goes on to grow up and fully understand why she left, while on the way meeting new love! Please enjoy, and read and **REVIEW**...

I remain your obedient Authoress,

LeRougeMonte

**Disclaimer: I dont own any of the characters or the storyline of The Phantom of the Opera, or else I would have better things to do with my time besides write stories...like say for instance, buying a country.**

_Authors Note: You may find that I have written Raoul with a semi-immature perspective. This is indeed intentional. It is all in an attempt to make his growing up all the more apparent as the story progresses. _

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As is custom after dinner, I find myself lounging in a large leather chair in front of the fire, a brandy in my hand. There is no sound but the steady and unchanging crackling of the fire, and the repetitive and perpetual ticking of the clock on the mantle. I swish what is left of the amber liquid around a few times in my glass before draining the rest of it and pouring yet another.

I can not help but think to myself what an exciting life I lead. The great Viscompt Raoul de Chagny, sits alone once more after a dull supper, in front of the fire with nothing but his thoughts to accompany him. Yes, what an thrilling exsistance I find myself in.

I sigh audibly, though there is no one in the room to hear my outward expression of inner turmoil, and take a gulp from my glass.

She should be here. With me, living like a queen in a house filled with light and warmth. Not in a disgusting cave living like a damn mole with _him_.

I find once more that this is what irks me most. She is with _him_, not me.

I stare into the orange and yellow flames, feeling pretty damn sorry for myself. And, for the millionth time these past weeks, I replay in my mind that final day, searching in vain for what I did wrong.

_She was sitting at the vanity, tears in her shining eyes as she faced me with a look of almost agony. _

"Raoul, it is not right of you to speak of him in such a manner. He was my friend, my teacher. If it weren't for him, I would have had a lonely, hopeless childhood. At least respect him for my sake."

I smiled warmly and shook my head at her before falling on my knees to meet her pretty brown eyes head on. I gently took her hand and patted it lightly before responding.

"Now Lotte, we must not forget what he is, namely a murderer and a deciever. I know it is hard for you to accept right now, love, as you are still confused, but give it time."

I kissed her forehead and continued to smile reassuringly. She looked at me with a befuddled expression on her face and then said, "I am not confused, Roaul, I just do not think it is right of you to refer to him as a monster. He is a man just like you."

I could not hide my cringe at these words. Silly, beautiful Christine. She was confused indeed.

"No, darling, you see, he is a misshapen, murdering madman who lives in an underground cave beneath a destroyed opera house, which, might I remind you, he destroyed. I, on the other hand, am handsome and rich, living in a normal house above ground. See? He can hardly be considered a man Lotte, more like a mole, or a rat or something."

Her face took on an expression of shock and she retracted her hand from under mine quickly. My smile faultered slightly at her sudden action before I reached out a hand to pat her head, putting my smile back on. "There, there, Little Lotte, no need to work yourself into a fuss. Here, how about you fix your hair and get dressed and I will give you money to buy some chocolates or something, hmm? Perhaps a new dress? Now, doesn't that sound good?"

I did not see it coming until her hand connected smartly with my face. I stood there, speechless, trying to piece together what had just happened. Was it something I said?

Her soft brown eyes hardened as her face became livid and her pretty pink lips pursed. "I am not a child, Raoul. You can not simply appease me with chocolates and dresses! Do you think that just because I am a woman that I am stupid? That just because you are 'handsome and rich' you are better than any other man? You are a spoiled, conceited little rich boy and I have had enough! I have tried to make this work Raoul, I really have, and it just will not. Goodbye, Vicompt."

With that she turned to leave but I grabbed her arm and turned her to face me. "Now Christine," I said in my most calming and reassuring voice, "Do not be so hasty! You do not mean what you say! Oh my poor little dear, that nasty man still has a grip on your mind, doesn't he? All will be better in time."

I attempted to pull her to me and comfort her. I understood that woman sometimes got in strange moods and that this one would pass and all would be back to normal, just like my mother had always done after one of her fits.

However, my Christine would have none of it, and she yanked her arm out of my grasp and let out a frustrated yell before storming out of the room and slamming the door behind her.

I just shook my head and smiled. Such strange creatures, women. It is a good thing that they have men to cling to with such fragile minds and bodies. I decided to wait for her return in the living room.

She never came back. 

My supply of brandy is exhausted and it is time to retire for the evening. I let this memory of her go again for later consideration and stand up. Casting one more fleeting glance at the crackling fire, I head for the door and up to my room.


	2. A Summons and Office Chats

The morning sunlight hits me like a brick wall as I lie in my bed with my eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"Goodmorning Monsieur!" The sing-songy voice of my maid is far too cheerful for this time of day and I find myself wanting very badly to give her a good slap and tell her to shut up.

Instead I groan my protest and roll over to face away from her and the accursed light.

It is like this every morning. LeeAnn, the maid, comes walzing into my room and flings the bloody curtains open in an effort to bring cheer and wakeful happiness into my room.

It, in fact, has the opposite effect.

"Oh come now, Monsiour Vicomte! It is a bright new day!"

I was about to show her exactly what I thought of this 'bright new day' when a knock resounds at the door, effectivally sedating my annoyance.

Distracted, my twit of a maid scurries to the door to answer it. I am thankful and shut my eyes in order to resume sleeping.

However, my victory is short lived as she comes running back to my bedside. "For you, Monsieur."

I open one eye carefully to see what she has brought and find that it is a letter on one of our silver trays.

I grudgingly sit up and take the letter from her for further examination. It is from my brother, Phillipe. Why he can not just talk to me in person, I will never know, but in either regard I have no choice but to read on.

_Raoul,_

I trust by now that you are awake. I need to speak with you as soon as possible. 

Phillipe

I am pretty upset by his request. I have no intentions of leaving my rather comfortable bed, and yet knowing my brother, it was not so much a request as an order.

So, I proceed to mumble curses under my breath as I swing my legs over the side of the bed to stand up. LeeAnn is standing around like a dolt, so I dismiss her to some other menial task downstairs while I see about getting dressed.

Surveying my room I find the familiar sights comforting. My burgundy curtains, the hardwood floor, even my sitting area, with plush, overstuffed chairs surrounding a large fire place adorned in a purple marble. My books, standing elegantly upon my bookshelves within reach of one of my chairs look inviting as I bypass them to go to my wardrobe, which is tall and made of a majestic mahogany, a family heirloom. However, my treasure, especially right now in my frame of mind, is my large bed, with plush, feather-stuffed comforters and plump pillows, looking sad and empty.

I am more than willing to comfort it, but know that it is impossible. I sigh, 'Do not worry, my sweet bed, I shall see you very soon.'

Once I am finished reasurring my bed of my immenant return, I open my wardrobe and proceed to dress, stepping out of my sleeping garmets and into a nice looking dove grey suit and jacket. I tie my shoulder length blonde hair back and survey myself in the full length mirror contained in the door of the wardrobe. I give myself my most charming smile and even chance a wink, though I do not wish to be to forward with myself.

I chuckle aloud and make my way to the door, going downstairs and to my brother's office. My footsteps echo off of the hardwood floors, and I begin to descend the main staircase, whose banisters start close together before sweeping out in welcome towards the front door. I veer off to the left wing of the house and at last reach his study, where I place a smart knock upon the large door before opening it and walking in.

Phillipe looks up from his work with a wide smile, and I see his brown hair is pulled back, making it easier to see the slight tinge of grey at his temples. Yet his eyes remain a clear and almost youthful dark green, while mine are a lighter blue. His face is faintly lined, however his stance is still as commanding as always.

"Good! I knew you were awake. Now, lets get down to business. Do you still intend upon marrying that chorus girl?"

His frankness takes me aback a little and my mouth opens slighly in surprise. "I...uhh..well I guess not..."

He regards me as he would a child who can not make up his mind, "Raoul, either you want to or you do not, there is no "guessing." which is it?"

I think for a moment about my answer before I dare give it. I would rather die than admit to my brother that she left me for a deformed opera freak, yet I still want to marry her. It is a tough answer indeed.

He obviously sees me giving his question real consideration because he raises his eyebrows slightly as he remains silent, waiting for my answer.

After a while I decide upon, "No," as I can not be sure that Christine is coming back, and well, I am young and handsome, and there are plenty more fish in the sea besides my beautiful Christine.

He looks relieved at my answer and I know why. Phillipe was always against my engagement to her, because she was not a woman of class, and he believed to marry her was to sully our name. We can not have that now, can we?

"Splendid! I knew you would come around. Listen, the Fontains have just moved to paris from the outskirts of France. They do not have a title, but are considerably wealthy due to the father's business in railroads and other good investments. They have two daughters, Madamoiselle Clara Fontain who is around your age, and Madamoiselle Mirielle Fontain who is a little younger. Either would be a good match for you as their ages only differ by a year, and after all, I am not married nor do I intend to be, and we have a name to perpetuate, do we not?"

I just shake my head in agreement, as his quick speech is easier to understand when you say nothing to interfere with his flow of thought. "So anyway, They are throwing a masquarade party as a way of getting to know their neighbors and establish their status in Parisian society. Naturally, the Compte and Vicomte de Chagny have been invited and I intend to get you married off to either one. The ball is next Friday."

I again just nod my head and he looks at me a bit longer before speaking again. "That is all, brother, you may go."

Sufficiantly dismissed, I leave without a word and trudge downstairs to the parlor where I hear the brandy calling my name, despite the time of day.


End file.
